


your will is not your own

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Banter, Beards (Facial Hair), Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Huddling For Warmth, Marking, Masturbation, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Steve is a space heater, Trope Bingo Round 2, Unresolved Sexual Tension, beardy!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Lewis is sent to collect Captain Rogers from the wilds of Alaska. A snowstorm is brewing and Darcy's ride abandons them to the elements... or a tiny log cabin. She's pretty sure she watched that movie. It didn't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your will is not your own

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a picture of Chris Evans with a beard. A plotbunny was born and Katy enabled the hell out of me to write it. Seriously this fic would not exist without her. A lot of my fics probably wouldn't exist without her. 
> 
> Huge thanks go to Britt for beta'ing and Katy for handholding and reading everything I churn out. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the read. oh and I'm typhoidmeri on tumblr (formerly merideathislost) if you feel like stalking me. I don't bite if you want to say hi...much anyway.
> 
> title from 'Addicted to Love' by Robert Palmer as covered by Florence + the Machine. I listened to it while writing so I recommend you listen to it while you read.

When she headed out on collection duty it had been a beautiful spring day. Blue sky, puffy white clouds in the shape of sheep and dragons, warm sunshine, and cartoon bluebirds with garlands of spring flowers held in tiny little beaks. Okay, maybe not that last one, but all in all a beautiful day. 

Now, hours later in the middle of Bumfuck, Alaska, the wind is picking up and the pilot of the helicopter is swearing and sweating profusely, which ew, as he lands in a small clearing south west of her destination. “You have five minutes; I can’t hold her any longer than that with the storm coming.”

“That’s all I need to collect Captain Rogers,” Darcy says, unbuckling the safety harness, zipping up her coat and swinging her go bag over her shoulder at the last second. SHIELD is kinda like the Boy Scouts, in the always be prepared way, or maybe the Girl Scouts, shame they don’t sell cookies. The wind is freezing—biting at her bare hands and face, flakes of snow stuck in her hair as she troops through the woods. 

The cabin is small, made of sturdy logs and grey stone. Smoke is cheerfully drifting from the chimney as she adjusts her bag and glances warily at the darkening sky. As she steps up onto the tiny porch the door swings open and Captain America stands in the open doorway framed by the light from the cabin behind him.

His red plaid shirt is rolled up to the elbows to reveal a plain white thermal shirt underneath, dark denim jeans and brown work boots; his hair is neatly brushed but his face is covered in a scruffy beard. He looks like some sort of lumber jack angel and not at all like the slightly old fashioned Captain Rogers she’s met while roaming the halls of SHIELD. He looks good. 

“Agent Lewis,” he says with a smile that lights up his face. 

Darcy’s mind goes blank for a second, butterflies whirling in her belly. “Captain Rogers,” she nods, lips twitching up in an echoing smile. The wind blows at her back and she takes an involuntary step forwards.

“I thought Clint was on pick up duty,” Rogers says.

“Barton’s on lockdown for pissing off Hill. So I’m your girl...er...um...Coulson sent me,” Darcy says, face heating up as she stumbles over her words. Another blast of icy wind creeps down her neck and plasters her loose hair over her eyes. She shoves her hair out of her face, pulling it back into a ponytail using one of the hair ties wrapped around her wrist. Darcy's hyper-aware of Steve watching every move she makes. "Let's make like a tree and leave, Cap."

“I’ll grab my bag,” Rogers says, taking a step back into the cabin and bending over to grab his bag. Damn. Darcy drags her eyes away to look at the storm darkening the sky. “Okay, let’s go.”

They take exactly four steps away from the cabin when the helicopter lurches into the sky heading away from them. “What the fuck,” Darcy says, spitting hair out of her mouth and shouting over the comm. unit. “Goddamn it Franklin you are not leaving me up on this mountain with Grizzly Adams.”

_“Sorr....Lewi....storm...back lat...”_

“I’ve seen this movie. It didn’t end well,” Darcy snarks stomping her foot.

“Come on, Agent. Let’s get back inside before you freeze,” Rogers says, eyes grim and jaw clenching and unclenching. Darcy nods and follows him back up the steps and into the cabin. She can barely feel her hands anymore, and her face stings. 

The interior of the cabin is nicer than it looks from the outside. Rustic and cozy. A small kitchen on the left, wooden cupboards, and a small table with two hand carved wooden chairs. A closed door leads off to what she supposes must be the bathroom and in front of the fire stands a pair of brown leather chairs and a rectangular rug in dark red. She wonders why there isn’t a bear skin rug or the head of some dead animal on the wall. The right side of the room is dominated by a large bed covered in a plush blue and white quilt and altogether too many throw pillows in blues, whites and reds. 

Captain Rogers kneels by the banked fire, poking and prodding it back to life as Darcy strips out of her coat and boots, shaking the snow from her hair before it melts. “Come over to the fire and get warm, Darcy. I need to get more wood from the porch.”

“Sounds good...Steve....I’ll, uh, see if I can get word to SHIELD,” she says, pulling her phone out and crossing over to kneel by the fire. She calls Coulson to let him know about the storm and she hands over the phone to Steve after he drops a load of wood to stack beside the fireplace. He says very little on the phone, and Darcy can’t help but stare at Steve’s beard as he talks, trying to decide how many shades darker than his hair it is. He doesn’t really look like the Captain America she is used to seeing in HQ.

"What?" Steve asks as he slides his thumb across the phone ending the call.

“It’s just...”

“It’s just...?”

“Your beard.”

“My beard.”

"Oh my god, stop repeating everything I say,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes. “The beard makes you look so different. Not all perfect and untouchable." Untouchable. Nice one Darcy. Steve stares at her unblinking, his left eyebrow cocking up before he shakes his head, grinning at her.

“I lost my razor a few weeks back while climbing,” Steve says, hand coming up to scratch his jaw. “Honestly, I’ll be glad to get rid of it.” 

Darcy curls up on one of the leather chairs. It’s plush and worn and she is tempted to dig her Starkbook out of her bag and begin reading while Captain Lumberjack stacks wood by the fire to dry. The wind howls at the eves of the cabin, large snowflakes bouncing off the window. “I hate the cold,” Darcy says thoughtlessly and slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Darcy. Storms I can handle...just not ice,” he says with a bitter twist of his lips as he warms his hands by the fire. 

“But there is a glacier on this mountain and, well, the lake can’t be all that warm.”

“The lake isn’t so bad.”

“Really? You’ve been swimming in the lake? Is Captain America secretly a member of the Polar Bear Club?” Steve just flashes a wide smile and shakes his head at her. It’s a nice smile, even with all the face fuzz. 

They spend the afternoon talking, and it isn’t half as awkward as Darcy might have feared it would be. She has always thought Captain Rogers was...well—awkward—around women. He is polite, and has a wickedly dry sense of humor that Darcy finds incredibly appealing. They make dinner together, steaks he digs out of the chest freezer, baked potatoes with sweet cream butter, and frozen peas and carrots. 

“...and Natasha walked in after the explosion, taking down nine goons as elegant as ever with only the tiniest smudge of dirt on her shoulder and her hair still perfect. God, I wish I could be that cool and beautiful,” Darcy says with a sigh as she picks all the cubes of carrot out of her peas and sets them to the side. 

“You are that beautiful, but I agree no one is as cool as Natasha,” Steve says, fork and knife held loosely in his hands.

“Not even Captain America?”

“Especially not Captain America,” Steve says dryly. Darcy bursts out laughing until she snorts, and covers her face with her paper towel in embarrassment. 

They drink tea by the fire, Steve sketching in a small leather notebook, and Darcy digging out a small ball of red wool and a crochet hook from the bottom of her bag. It’s weirdly domestic, and she isn’t sure how to categorize craft time with Captain America. When she yawns for the fourth time in a row she gives up on her crochet and tucks the hook and wool back into her bag. “So, um, bedtime for little agents, and not so little Avengers?” Darcy says awkwardly.

“Oh right. You can use the bathroom first. I’ll just finish this,” he says, pointing his pencil at the open page of his sketchbook. Darcy’s gaze darts down to the page, a lightning struck tree twisted and broken, a deer beside it full of majesty despite a broken horn. She wants to say it’s beautiful but she smiles instead, gripping her bag tightly and shuffling into the bathroom. There aren’t any pajamas in her bag, this wasn’t meant to be an overnight trip. The thermals she is wearing under her clothes will do; they are cute at least, pale blue with small white flowers. She folds her clothes neatly, something she never does at home, washes the remnants of her makeup off and shifts from foot to foot staring at Steve’s red plastic toothbrush. With a guilty shrug she squeezed out a dollop of toothpaste and makes a mental note to add a toothbrush to her satchel. 

She just used Captain America’s toothbrush. It’s probably the weirdest thing she has ever done in her life so far.

Steve is at the kitchen sink washing out their tea cups when she opens the bathroom door. He doesn’t look up, and Darcy slinks across the room, diving under the covers. Steve turns, eyebrows twitching upwards. She pokes her tongue out at him and rolls her eyes, “Be tee dubs, I borrowed your toothbrush. Sorry about the girl cooties,” she grins, wiggling her fingers. 

“I’ll survive,” Steve says dryly as he closes the bathroom door. 

He emerges from the bathroom in white thermal long underwear and Darcy doesn’t know where to look. So she focuses on her Starkbook though she doesn’t know what the hell is on the page. Her gaze is drawn magnetically back to Steve. She thought the Cap suit was tight but the long underwear leaves little to the imagination. He pulls blankets from a cupboard and grabs a pillow from the bed, tossing it on the nest of blankets he has laid on the floor. 

“We can share the bed, Steve. We’re both adults.”

“Darce, I don’t know that that’s the best idea.”

“Seriously, Steve, if my virtue isn’t safe with Captain America, then who is it safe with?” Darcy says and Steve snorts. 

“You sure?” 

“Yup,” she says, patting the bed beside her and snuggling deeper under the covers. “We shall read our books, and ignore the fact it’s like a set for some lumberjack themed porno up in here, with your beard and us trapped in the cabin together in a storm.” Darcy lifts up her Starkbook and waves it at Steve who is staring at her blankly, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. The room suddenly feels very small. “Okay totes awkward...ignore that last bit.”

“Okay,” Steve says awkwardly and scoops his pillow off the floor and tossing it on the bed. The bed dips when he settles down beside her and picks up his battered copy of Brave New World as he settles back on his pillow. Darcy wonders about his choice of appropriate reading material, the world has already got to be pretty dystopian for a soldier out of time. 

After reading the same paragraph three times without taking anything in, Darcy gives up, switching off her Starkbook and taking off her glasses. Bra. Fuck. She sits up a bit, reaching behind her back to undo the clasp and tugging the straps down through her shirt sleeves. The hooks catch in the inside of her thermal and she swears under her breath. With one sharp tug the bra comes loose, landing on Steve’s lap. Well fuck.

“Lose something?” Steve says, his left eyebrow twitched up and a half smirk on his lips. He picks up her bra, plum satin edged in black scalloped lace, by the strap and dangles it out in front of her.

“Bite me, Captain,” Darcy huffs, grabbing the bra and tossing it on the floor. Her cheeks are burning hotly, and Steve chuckles, a low rumble that makes her insides twist. “Night, Steve.” 

“Goodnight, Darcy,” he says, rolling onto his side away from her and switching off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, cold, and silence. Darcy curls into a tight ball, listening to the storm rattling the windows and Steve’s breathing slow and steady beside her. 

How is she supposed to sleep? It's freezing cold even with her thermals and warmest red socks on. Steve is breathing evenly beside her and she can almost feel the warmth of his body seeping across the distance separating them. She is in bed with Captain America. It's the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened. It really isn't fair. 

She has tried really hard not to objectify Captain America any more than as a passing admiration for a godlike physique, and she would know. Of course, there was that one time she had a sex dream about Captain Rogers. One time. And now she is lying in bed next to the Star Spangled Man. 

Okay, there was also the time she masturbated after she saw him shirtless and filthy after a mission, but she's only human. The lyrics to the Divinyls' 'I Touch Myself' start playing in her head and she huffs to herself turning over. Shut up brain, so not helping. 

Steve’s breathing is deep and even and Darcy decides to brave it out and snuggle up to his back. She scoots across the space dividing them and plasters herself against his back. She places her hand lightly on his side and bends her knees to curl around him. He’s like a fucking furnace. “Yes,” she murmurs happily basking in his warmth. She tries not to think about how hard her nipples are against his back, totally the cold. Or the trickles of warmth between her thighs as her mind fixates on how close she is pressed against the firm curve of his ass. If she slid her hand around and down...nope, not thinking about that.

“Darcy, what do you think you are doing?” Steve says, voice practically a growl it’s so low, and Darcy freezes.

"I'm cold and you're warm,” she says, ignoring his question and to hell with it all, she snuggles closer. “So warm.” Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat, and Darcy smirks against his thermal shirt. “Well, I suppose you could always warm me up another way," she teases, voice low and sultry. Steve makes another strangled noise and she rolls over to face the wall with a huff. "I was just cold," she mutters under her breath, curling up tighter and mourning the loss of his heat. 

Steve rolls over, his hand falling heavy on her hip, his chest a solid heat against her back. Darcy can't help the sigh that escapes her lips as his warmth seeps into her. "You shouldn't tease me, Darce," Steve says and presses closer, his knees bending into her legs. His hand sliding from her hip to press flat against her abdomen until his hips fit snug against her ass. She can feel the hard length of his cock along the cleft in her ass. Darcy lets out a little moan and bites down hard on her lip. His thumb rubs back and forth in the gap where her thermal top has ridden up but he makes no further advances. His breath fans against her hair, and she takes a slow, steadying breath.

"Wasn't teasing you before, but I will now," Darcy says rubbing her ass back against his erection. Steve breathes in sharply, his hand flexing on her belly and then he is kissing her neck, her jaw, and it’s hard to focus on anything other than his mouth, hot and wet, and his beard tickling against her skin. 

"You sure you wanna play that game, Agent," Steve whispers against her ear, and Darcy shivers. His hand slides up a fraction to slip all the way under the edge of her thermal top, calloused fingertips dragging on her skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Who said it was a game, Captain? You're the one with the hard-on," Darcy says, and scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip as she reaches behind to grab his ass. Steve makes a sound that is halfway to being a growl, his hips rocking forward, his cock nudging against her ass.

"That how it is?" he asks, voice a low rumble the sends a shiver down her spine and more heat pooling between her legs. He bites her earlobe, his hand dipping down under the elastic of her thermals and panties. His hand slides slowly down her abdomen, past damp curls to lightly tease between her legs. "Fuck, you're soaked."

“God,” Darcy moans, pressing against his hand, her nails digging into his ass. 

“Do you like that, Darcy?” he whispers, breath hot against her ear as his fingers circle against her. Darcy lifts her leg up giving him better access.

“Yes,” she says, hips jerking forward. Steve places open mouth kisses along the curve of her neck. His fingers slipping between swollen lips to circle and dip into her heat the heel of his hand bumping against her clit, as his fingers plunge in and out of her. “Don’t stop, Steve,” she whimpers, too far gone to care how embarrassingly close to orgasm she is. 

Steve bites against her neck, teeth scraping against her skin and Darcy arches back, coming apart in his arms, squeezing tightly around his fingers. Steve rocks against her, kissing her neck and coaxing her gently through the last shudder of her orgasm. “Gorgeous,” Steve says and kisses her neck. 

He slides his fingers out of her and Darcy whimpers at the loss. “Hush.” Steve tugs at her thermal bottoms and it takes a second for Darcy’s foggy brain to function enough to help him tug her thermal pants and underwear down and shoving them off her legs. He shifts behind her, and then he is curling back around her, his hand pulling her thigh up over his cock rubbing along her slit “Tell me what you want, Darcy?” he says, voice rough.

“Want you,” she says, and it’s all she can say with her body lit up, and him pressed so close to her. 

“You sure?” Steve asks rocking against her and she slides her hand down to brush along the head of his cock between her legs.

“Yes, Yes, I’m sure...yes, I want you...yes, Steve,” she says and Steve shivers, his hand squeezing her thigh, his mouth hot on her jaw. He shifts his hips back until the head of his cock is against her opening, his teeth sink into her neck, tongue flicking out to sooth the sting. He pushes into her slowly, filling and stretching her. Her breath catches and her nails scrape against the sheets. 

“You okay?” Steve asks and Darcy nods her head against the pillow, experimentally clenching around his cock. “Christ, Darcy,” he mutters against her neck, hips jerking. He moves his right arm around her neck, hand sliding under the neck of her shirt to cup her breast, her nipple hard against his palm. “Wanted you for so long.”

Part of her mind wants to ask if this is really happening and she nearly opens her mouth to ask but then he starts rocking in and out of her and all she can think about is how good he feels. His left hand is firm on her thigh, keeping her still as he rocks into her. Darcy slips her hand down between her legs to rub her clit, sliding her fingertips against the base of his cock as he rocks into her. 

He mutters a litany of curses against her neck, breath harsh, his hips stuttering against her as she flutters around his cock, coming with a burst of pleasure that curls her toes and turns the world white behind her eyelids. Steve fucks her through it; his hips jerk and he presses as deep as he can go. He calls out her name when he comes, pulsing into her, fingertips printing bruises on her thigh. 

Steve wraps his around her waist holding them close together, nuzzling her neck. “You okay?” he asks, voice deep and ragged, and tinged with worry.

“God, yeah. That was...that was....holy fuck that was good,” Darcy says, laying her hand over his arm. Steve chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest and making Darcy shiver.

“Good,” Steve says, shifting his hips back to withdraw from her body. Darcy bites her lip to keep herself from whimpering at the loss. "M'gonna get us something to clean up with," Steve says, dropping an open mouthed kiss on her neck. He flicks on the bedside lamp and gets up off the bed. Darcy turns her head to watch him walk across the room, bare assed but for his thermal shirt. He steps into the bathroom and Darcy sighs pressing her things tightly together. 

When he steps out of the bathroom Darcy can’t look away. The hem of the shirt rests above the dark thatch of his pubic hair, the same dark colour as his beard. Her gaze follows the path of hair to his cock, half hard between his legs and she can feel her cheeks getting hot at the thought that he had just been inside her. 

She shifts on the bed, rubbing her thighs together and licks her lips unconsciously. Steve chuckles darkly, and she manages to drag her gaze back up to his face. Steve cocks a brow up at her, his smug grin turning to shit-eating when she blushes brighter and drops her gaze altogether. The quilt top is really quite fascinating, all those tiny stitches. 

"Bit late for you to be blushin' isn’t it?" Steve says with a satisfied smirk and her mind ticks over the fact that he is utterly shameless in his nudity. Her mind supplies the fact he was in the army but she is missing something about Steve Rogers. He kneels against the bed pulling up the covers to slide in next to her, he nudges her knee and her legs fall open without her input at all. He reaches between her legs with the cloth and Darcy gasps, attempting to close her legs on him. “Hush,” he murmurs and kisses her temple. He drags the warm cloth against sensitive skin and Darcy squirms, biting her lip and wondering how the hell she got into this situation. How she could end up in Captain America’s bed in the middle of Bumfuck, Alaska. 

Captain America just fucked her, only he didn't, Steve Rogers did. Steve Rogers isn't anything like the man who wanders around SHIELD HQ. She's seen Captain America in action, issuing orders and devising plans of attack. She has seen the Captain play bashful, stuttering, embarrassed or utterly oblivious. When agents, both male and female, hit on or outright propositioned him he would blush and shake his head. 

He has always been polite and courteous to her in Coulson’s office, never once looked at her with anything more than mild interest and a small smile. Steve Rogers is so out of her league they should be standing on different continents. It doesn't make sense.

Steve curls around her, his hand snaking up under her top to possessively cup her breast. "Did you play me?" Darcy blurts out and Steve stills beside her. 

"I wanted you," he says, thumb brushing lightly over her nipple, and she arches into the touch just a little bit. 

“You wanted me,” Darcy says flatly, avoiding his gaze for a moment to stare at a particularly interesting shadow on the ceiling above the bed. “But I’m Coulson’s assistant, I’m nothing more than a glorified secretary. Is it some sort of contest thing? Because I won’t sleep with the agents? Because I’m not easy. Well fuck, apparently I am for Captain America. Fuck,” Darcy says, covering her face with her hands. “Except you aren’t anything like that are you. You aren’t some bumbling virgin with your ‘Aw, shucks ma’am.’ And your ‘Oh gosh.’.”

“I never said ‘aw shucks.’ It isn’t like that,” Steve says, his thumb still swiping against her hardened nipple.

“Stop that, it’s distracting,” she says, pulling her hands away from her face to smack his hand away from her tit. “Tell me what the fuck it’s like then. Because I really don’t want to tell Coulson I tased his fucking hero.”

“But not your hero?” Steve says, cocking his left brow at her.

“Don’t be an ass, Captain.”

“I wanted you from the second time I saw you. You were dressing down a pair of agents who’d been talking about Dr. Banner and Clint. You were absolutely furious. It was fuckin’ glorious. One hand on your hip cocked to the side and the other wrapped around your taser. 

“I’d just stepped out of a meeting with Director Fury. You kneed Agent Paulson in the balls, tased Agent Chin, and walked away. I couldn’t take my eyes away from you. The swing of your hips as your heels clicked on the tiles. So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Darcy blushes, and bites her lip. That incident was months ago. “Why didn’t you just ask me out? Why didn’t you say something earlier....unless... did you plan all this? Me in your bed?”

“I, uh, may have planned for you to be on collection duty. I had no control over the storm. I didn’t plan this though,” Steve says low, cradling her cheek in his hand. His thumb rubs against her bottom lip, she darts her tongue out to lick it and Steve’s breath catches, eyes going dark. 

He kisses her gently, tongue teasing at the seam of her lips until she opens for him, clutching at his thermal top. Darcy pushes him back, and Steve lets himself drop down onto the bed. Darcy throws a leg over to straddle him. “Don’t think we won’t talk about this in the morning, Captain,” she says and trails her hand down his thermal shirt covered chest to wrap her hand around his cock. 

She strokes him slowly, until he is fully hard in her hand. She rubs her thumb over the head of his cock, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he thrusts up into her hand. “But right now I’m going to go wash my hands,” she says with a wicked grin, stroking him one last time and climbing off him and the bed.

"You punishin' me?" Steve groans.

"Maybe," Darcy says, flashing him a grin over her shoulder and walking away in just her blue thermal top and red fuzzy socks. She can feel his eyes on her until she closes the bathroom door and leans heavily on it, curling her toes up. "Holy fuck."

Thoughts crowd her head about Captain America and Steve Rogers as she washes herself. He wanted her for months. The thought is utterly staggering; nobody has wanted her like that. Ever. She avoids looking at her reflection in the small round mirror over the sink, she can guess what she looks like. Her gaze wanders from the little painting of an eagle (seriously) on the rough wall, to the shirt hanging on the back of the door, red and black plaid, Steve’s shirt from earlier in the day. 

Darcy straightens her shoulders, decides they really need to talk before the morning. She grabs the door handle and nearly opens it, pausing to glance at Steve’s shirt. She chews on her bottom lip, reaching up to run her fingertips along the flannel. A grin spreads across her face and she tugs her thermal over her head and slips Steve’s shirt on, fingering the buttons. She leaves the shirt open despite the cold of the room and grasps the door handle firmly. She manages to take two steps towards the bed before her brain dribbles out of her ears to puddle around her feet at the sight of Steve. 

He is naked on the bed, blankets and quilt shoved to the far side of the bed, his knees are bent and spread apart and his hand is wrapped around his cock. His eyes are closed as he slowly fists himself, lip caught between his teeth, hips thrusting up off the bed. It's the most erotic thing she has ever seen, and heat pools between her legs. “Fuck.” Talking is overrated.

"You gonna watch me or join me? I can do this all day," Steve says, eyes half open, thumb rubbing slowly over the head of his cock. Jesus fuck, that isn’t fair. He slides his hand down to the base of his cock and up again with a twist of his wrist. Darcy swallows hard and crosses the room to climb onto the bed, straddling him but not stopping him from fisting his cock. She slides her hand down his thigh to lightly squeeze his balls and Steve hisses, rolling his hips. Darcy drags her gaze away from his hand on his cock to meet Steve’s eyes, blown wide with only the thinnest ring of blue showing. Darcy slides her hand up to encircle the base of his dick and Steve lets his hand fall away.

“I don’t want to watch this time,” she says, shifting up and forward and guiding his cock into her. She sinks down slowly, enjoying the feel of him stretching and filling her. Steve hands slide up her thighs, hips and waist to rest just under her tits. 

“You look good in my shirt, but better without,” Steve says pushing the shirt off her shoulders. "You gonna take your socks off?"

"Nope. It's Alaska, Steve. Alaska," Darcy says and clenches around him. Steve groans, his hips jerking up into her.

“So beautiful, even with your socks on,” Steve says, his eye on hers as his hands cup her breasts.

“Shut up about my socks,” Darcy says, lifting herself up slowly and sinking back down, Steve’s hips rolling up to meet her.

....

“Darcy girl, come on. You gotta wake up now,” Steve rumbles, and Darcy frowns burrowing deeper into the bedding.

“Five more minutes, s’dark out still,” Darcy mumbles into the bed.

“Because the pillow is over your head,” Steve says. 

With a quick tug he pulls the pillow away leaving Darcy squinting at the brightness. “Hey, no fair.”

“There’s coffee on the counter, I’ve got to go fix the roof. Coulson will be here within the hour. Thought you might wanna get dressed before then,” Steve says and kisses the back of her head. 

Darcy lies still a few minutes more, before rolling over blinking bleary eyes up at the ceiling. “What’s wrong with the roof?” she mutters sitting up, and wincing at the burn and stretch of long unused muscles. Memories of the night before flood through her and she bites her lip hard, glancing around the room but Steve is already outside. 

She tosses the blankets aside, grabs her clothes off the floor, and drags herself into the shower. The hot water is soothing against sore muscles. She dries herself on a soft white towel and begins putting her clothes on as quickly as possible. She catches her reflection in the mirror, her neck and tits are marked from his mouth and beard. She doesn’t need to look at her thighs to know they are covered in the same marks. “Holy shit,” she breathes out. 

“Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“You about done in there?”

“Who’s flying?” Darcy asks through the door, pulling her shirt on and doing up the buttons as quickly as possible, hands trembling slightly.

"Clint is. What’s wrong, Darcy?" Steve says and she curls her hand around the door handle. Clint she can handle. Or rather she can beg Natasha to handle Clint. Right.

"I don't have enough make-up to hide this and I left my scarf on the helicopter yesterday," Darcy says, opening the door and pulling her damp hair back. Steve’s face is unreadable as he looks over the marks he left on her and she worries at her lip. "If you have a scarf I could borrow? I mean I don’t...if you don't want the team to know...about this...about...us?" Her voice falters a little at the end, she closes her eyes and lets her hair fall back down. 

“Darcy, when I said I wanted you, I didn’t just mean I wanted you in bed. I want you, want to date you, and spend our days and nights together as much as my...job allows,” he says and she looks up at him sharply as he wraps his arms around her. Steve smiles down at her and drops a soft kiss on her lips. “I want you to be my girl.” 

He kisses her again, his hand threading through her damp hair, his thumb caressing against one of the bruises on her neck. Darcy gasps and he licks into her mouth, his tongue curling against hers, his free hand warm on her hip. When she pulls back Steve grins down at her his eyes flicking to the bruise his thumb keeps brushing over.

“You’re not sorry at all are you?” Darcy says, and Steve grins at her and kisses her forehead.

“Not one bit.”

Together they clean the cabin and strip the bed, though there is no time to wash the linens. Steve promises that there is a cleaning service to do that for them. Coulson arrives with a knock at the door not five minutes after Darcy has nervously checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror for the fifth time. 

“Good morning, Captain. I hope you had a pleasant vacation. I apologize for the little hitch in the plans. I hope there was no trouble with the storm,” Coulson says in his mildly pleasant voice when Steve opens the door. Darcy definitely isn’t hiding behind Steve’s back. Nope.

“Yes, thank you for letting me borrow the cabin, Phil. The storm wasn’t any real trouble at all,” Steve says, reaching down to pick up his backpack and duffle from the floor. 

“So I see,” Coulson says dryly when his gaze falls on Darcy. She blushes scarlet and Steve freezes, she can’t see his face but she can imagine the squaring of his jaw. “The window between the storms is small. I suggest you follow me back to the quinjet.”

The world outside the shelter of the cabin is a brittle wonderland, drifts of pristine snow reaching the tops of Darcy’s boots. Steve falls into step beside her, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. They don’t talk. It feels like they have been caught making out by the school principal, and Darcy is waiting to get detention. She sits down on the right side of the jet and Steve sits beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. 

Around midflight, Clint steps into the back of the jet with them while Coulson pilots. Darcy is tightly curled up beside Steve, reading her Starkbook, her hair pushed back behind her ear and not remotely covering her neck. Clint is in mid stretch when his eyes widen comically, looking from her neck to Steve and back again. Steve’s eyebrows arch up but he doesn’t say anything, only meets Barton’s eyes with a steady gaze. 

“You and Lewis?” Barton asks with a crooked grin.

"Barton," Coulson says firmly. "leave them alone."

"I didn't—"

"Hawkeye."

"Yes sir. Uh, nice beard Cap,” Clint says with a wink and slips back to his seat beside Coulson.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly his hand warm on Darcy’s knee.

“If you are,” Darcy says, and Steve smiles down at her. “He isn’t going to drop it you know.”

“I know,” he says and kisses her gently. He pulls away before the kiss has a chance to deepen or she can protest but his hand remains on her knee until the quinjet lands.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Man with a Plan (to Shave off his Beard)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013455) by [Lynnestra44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynnestra44/pseuds/Lynnestra44)




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